came from Nigel. It was written from Stacke House, a shooting-lodge in
Scotland, and spoke of his speedy return to the South.

"I am shooting with Harwich," he wrote, "but must soon be thinking about
my return to Egypt. I didn't write to you before, though I wanted to
thank you for your visit to Mrs. Chepstow. You can't think how she
appreciated it. She was delighted by your brilliant talk and sense of
humour, but still more delighted by your cordiality and kindness. Of
late she hasn't had very much of the latter commodity, and she was quite
bowled over. By Jove, Isaacson, if men realized what a little true
kindness means to those who are down on their luck, they'd have to 'fork
out,' if only to get the return of warm affection. But they don't
realize.

"I sometimes think the truest thing said since the Creation is that
'They know not what they do.' Add, 'and what they leave undone,' and you
have an explanation of most of the world's miseries. Good-bye, old chap.
I shall come to Cleveland Square directly I get to London. Thank you for
that visit. Yours ever, Nigel Armine."

Nigel's enthusiasm seemed almost visibly to exhale from the paper as
Isaacson held the letter in his hands. "Your cordiality and kindness."
So that had struck Mrs. Chepstow--the cordiality and kindness of his,
Isaacson's manner! Of course she and Nigel were in correspondence.
Isaacson remembered the occasional notes almost of triumph in her
demeanour. She had had letters from Nigel during his absence from
London. His letters--the hope in her face. Isaacson saw her on the
balcony looking out over the river. Had she not looked out as the human
soul looks out upon a prospect of release? In the remembrance of them
her expression and her attitude became charged with more definite